


Written in blood

by Chibiness87



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV)
Genre: Continuity What Continuity, F/M, Fix-It, episode related 1.05, episode related 1.08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 04:40:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chibiness87/pseuds/Chibiness87
Summary: Summary: She can do anything.OR: The continuity error fix-it fic that nobody asked for.





	Written in blood

**Author's Note:**

> I know I need to finish ‘Your reflection…’ but I watched the finale, and there was a line in it that made me go, uh, what? And I had to get this out and up first. Because, uh, what?!

**Written in blood** , by **chibiness87**  
**Rating** : G  
**Season/Spoilers** : Takes place specifically in 1.05 (but inspired by a line in 1.08)  
**Disclaimer** : Not mine

* * *

 

Her DNA results sit secure in the envelope beside him on the table, the weight of the knowledge of the analysis sitting heavy on his mind. His heart. Deep down, he feels a little guilty for deceiving Miriam so, getting her to run the sequencing again through the night and then hiding some of the results from her, hiding some of the truths she seeks, but if she were to know just how powerful Diana truly is he knows she’d want to learn more.

Study her more.

And he, well, he just can’t face that. Can’t face letting Diana be tested, be experimented on. Can’t bear the thought of having Miriam and Marcus so close to her, even if he was there too. Their scents covering hers, poking and prodding and drawing yet more blood. Learning more of her secrets, secrets even she doesn’t yet know about.

And while the scientist in him is curious, the part of him that has pledged himself to her side won’t allow it.

Because she has power. _Jesu_ , does she have power. Emerging from her like a cub from hibernation, sleepy and slow. Reaching out around her tenderly, timidly, and sometimes being immersed anyway all at once in an overwhelming sense. Control is something she is yet to fully master, but he knows it will only be a matter of time before she stretches her mind, stretches her limits.

Finds out what she is capable of.

And he knows, oh, he knows just how much she will be capable of.

His inner self preens with pride, knowing his mate will be a sight to behold. Diana is no mere mortal, no, this witch is something special. Something unique.

(And his.

Diana is _his_.

Damn the congregation and the covenant to the depths of hell; he won’t give her up for anything.)

She has every genetic marker.

Every single thing they have ever been able to trace, every detail they have ever mapped. She has them all.

Elements.

Time.

Healing.

Flight.

Seer.

And that’s just a few of the sequences he recognises. Who knows what else she has hidden within her.

Sitting across from her now, fire crackling in the grate, he begins to tell her. To let her in to who she is. Who she could be.

Will be.

He starts slow.

Water and wind, the elements she has already experienced. The powers she knows.

And then the ones she has yet to discover.

Earth, for spell casting.

She lets out a laugh at that, disbelief mixing with the wonder and joy in her tone, love pouring out of her with every heartbeat.

There is more he needs to tell her. More he needs to disclose. Fire and healing powers, the marker for time. For sight. For energy. A form of electricity runs through her blood, making it sing, making it dance, and now he is back in her presence he can hear it more clearly than he ever thought he would want to.

Need to.

The sound of her blood flowing though her veins soothes him. Her scent of honeysuckle and springtime, even now in the depths of autumn, calms him. And now he has admitted what he should have told her from the very start, back when he caught a book she used her magic to remove from the shelves and looked up into those eyes on that face, he feels his own heart beat a slow countenance to hers.

His time in Oxford was more enlightening to him than he could possibly have thought necessary.

Hamish had asked if he loves her, and he had wanted to laugh in the deamon’s face.

It’s not just her ability to draw a long-lost text forth that drew him to her. It wasn’t her power. It was her heart.

He heard it beat, made his own echo a reply, and he was helpless to do anything but to seek her out.

Again and again, in the Bodleian. Craving her. Needing her.

He could have taken her that night on the riverbank, but instead had fought back the predator in him which demanded he strike. Had fought it back and won.

Only to seek her out in more ways. Offering her an escape from the creatures, from the scrutiny. Offering her sanctuary. Secreting her away to France, to his family home, to the protection of Sept-Tours and his mother and the de Clermont name.

Does he _love_ her?

 _Dieu_ , he doesn’t know how he was supposed to _not_.

The fire catches her eyes, making them sparkle, and he blinks. Swallows. Pushes down the desire he can feel, the ache between them. There is a truth about his recent past he needs her to know. The secrets he keeps. For her and from her.

“I need to talk to you about Oxford.”

“I don’t want to talk about Oxford, Matthew,” she says, drawing close to him, heedless of the danger he should present. He can hear her blood, smell her desire. Predator to prey. A moth to a flame.

Fire seeks out fire, after all.

And he, oh, he welcomes the burn.

* * *

End

 


End file.
